


Lace

by Tedronai



Series: The End of an Age [5]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Age of Legends, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/pseuds/Tedronai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Dead men have no future.</i> Asmodean has self-image issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lace

**Author's Note:**

> So this is not part of the Asmodean Lives AU, but credit for the inspiration still goes to my muse, Pettymotives.

The face looking back at him in the mirror appeared no different from before. Immortality felt no different than, well, mortality, and he had to consciously fight the urge to ask Mierin whether there was any way of knowing it had actually worked.

It had been almost two weeks since he had sworn his oaths to the Great Lord of the Dark. For immortality, for a place in the New World under the Great Lord’s rule. For another chance to fulfil his potential, to right the grievous wrong that in the centuries since his youth, the name of Joar Addam Nessosin had faded into near-obscurity instead of becoming the most acclaimed composer of his generation.

With nervous hands he did up the buttons of his white shirt, tied the simple black cravat. The coat that came last was also black, and the contrast made him look pale, more so than usual. The dark shadows under his eyes didn’t help the impression. He ran a comb through his hair, mostly out of habit; it fell back into the exact same wavy pattern as before. Then he was ready.

Mierin arched a single, perfect eyebrow at the sight of him as he emerged from the dressing room. “Who died?” she asked, not as though she was actually interested.

 _Joar Addam Nessosin. The failure, the unfulfilled potential, the sad shell of a man who could neither escape nor live up to his mother’s expectations._ He said none of that aloud. Mierin probably knew without saying, anyway. She usually did. He tilted his head to one side and said instead, “Shall we go, then?”

She flashed a razor-thin smile, an amused glint to her black eyes. “Absolutely. Wouldn’t want to miss the riot, would we?”

~*~

It was closer to morning when he finally staggered through a gateway back to his apartment. The smell of smoke clung to his clothes and his hair, to his very skin.

The Music Hall of Shorelle was no more.

When he had been told to choose the target, he had been completely unprepared, but the answer had come to him instantly. That hall was where Joar Addam had performed his first concerts, decades before earning his third name, back when Joar Addam had still had a future.

_Dead men have no future._

The fact that there had been a concert going on this night had only made the target more pleasing to the Great Lord. Or so Mierin assured him. She should know, he supposed. He dragged himself to the dressing room, where his gaze fell on the mirror again… And he couldn’t recognise the man staring back at him. The stark black suit, the austere image, it belonged to someone else, he didn’t know who. Someone who was neither Joar Addam Nessosin nor Asmodean, someone who was… _nobody_.

Then he was tearing his clothes off but his hands were shaking too much and he had to rip off several buttons, but finally the offending items of clothing were piled on the floor and he was standing in his smallclothes in the middle of the dressing room, breathing hard. He wanted to laugh, or maybe scream. Of course, he did neither; it was not his style. Instead he calmly disposed of the ruined clothes and bathed to rid himself of the smell of smoke, and then collapsed into bed and slept for fourteen hours.

When Mierin came by the next evening to invite him to join her and Elan Morin for dinner, she was greeted by Asmodean in a bright blue coat, with falls of lace at the collar and the cuffs and a sardonic smile on his lips, and nothing of Joar Addam left in his eyes.


End file.
